


Disgraced Prince Hans

by HathorAroha



Series: Frozen Fandom Month Stories [4]
Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: Canon - Movie, Duos Week, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 14:09:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4308063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HathorAroha/pseuds/HathorAroha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hans is sent back to the Southern Isles in disgrace, taken to his ship by the Arendelle Guard who do not hold back goading Hans on what he had done to Arendelle and its rulers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disgraced Prince Hans

Two days after the Great Thaw, Hans found himself in very hot water _._ All the dignitaries—even the Duke of Weselton—had turned their backs on him once his lies were exposed. Hans found not one friend in sight. The Arendelle guards had him thrown in the dungeons—the same cells that he had imprisoned Elsa in before she escaped. The guards were had been _very_ quick to change sides when it suited them—it didn’t take too long for them to get back on Elsa’s side.

_Like rats abandoning a sinking ship._

Hans spent at least three nights in his prison while the ships were readied to take the visiting dignitaries back to their own respective countries with plenty of apologies from Queen Elsa. He ought to have been grateful that Elsa still had the decency to provide him with three meals—even if just bread and butter—a day, and a blanket to keep him warm at night.

 _Au contraire—_ this compassion shown to him, a prisoner, only filled him with more resentment, bitter that he had been defeated by her _and_ that silly PrincessAnna. They probably should have thrown him in the fjord to drown or execute him with his own sword—which now lay broken at the bottom of the fjord anyway—and yet they still treated him with a modicum of decency. They were just too _nice._ He should have been able to kill both—especially that naïve little princess, Anna—and seize the throne without too much effort.

 _Swords are_ expensive, Hans sulked in his dungeon, _why did_ it, _not Anna, shatter? That is impossible._

But the impossible had become possible. And now his nose was probably broken—Anna had an impressive punch, even Hans had to give her that much.

 

On the fourth morning, two Arendelle guards marched into his cell, gripping his arms as they hauled him to his feet, marching him out of his cell door. He tried to walk upright, spine straight and chin up, determined to retain as much of what was left of his dignity as possible. He may be a disgraced prince in Arendelle, but he would still be a prince in his homeland.

“What has Queen Elsa said of my fate?” he asked one of the stony-faced guards.

The guard frowned, giving Hans an irritated glance.

“If you must know, our queen has delivered a message to the King in your country ahead of your departure,” he rapped in fast, clipped tones, “she has requested he deal with you himself. A truly diplomatic act.”

_She’s just too nice. Just like her sister._

“I’m surprised,” Hans commented, offhand, “I would have thought she would have me executed by her own hand.”

“Her sister has already done enough to deal with you on the queen’s behalf,” the first guard retorted, “how’s your nose?”

The second guard’s hand convulsed on Hans’ arm as a strange cough escaped his throat. The disgraced prince highly suspected the guard was not coming down with a cold.

“They’ll have to adjust your portraits now, Prince Hans,” the first guard continued, to his partner’s clear delight, “they will have to get your new nose right after all.”

His friend definitely didn’t laugh—and he definitely wasn’t coming down with a cold.

Hans forced his expression into something close to impassive apathy, refusing to let the guards see his deep, seething humiliation, caught in the middle of their chortling banter.

“I presume you are on the queen’s side again,” Hans stated flatly, “abandoning a sinking ship, weren’t you.”

The two guards didn’t answer, too busy hauling Hans up some old stone steps into the glare of daylight. Judging by the sun’s low position on the eastern horizon, it had to be early morning at the latest. Hans blinked and squinted against the harsh light hitting his eyes. After spending all of three days in a perpetually dim dungeon, the sudden outpouring of daytime’s full brightness made his eyes hurt and water a little.

As Hans was led up to the docks where a ship waited to sail him back to the Southern Isles, he could feel the heat of many pairs of eyes following him. He heard loud whispering around him—did they think him deaf?—as he passed by, flanked by two of Arendelle’s royal guards. Mothers pulled their children near them, protective arms around their shoulders. Fathers did the same, hands firmly on little boys’ and girls’ heads. A man overlooking his fish stall—gods, the stench was enough to turn Hans’ stomach—leaned his hands forward on his table, glaring at the prince as he passed by. A group of boys sprinted past, booing the prince along the way, taunting him as they sped off to the docks.

“It appears you are no longer so popular,” the guard who thought himself so _hilarious_ remarked, “I suspect people will not be so willing to trust the likes of you again so quick again.”

Hans decided not to satisfy him with a reaction, keeping himself as apathetic to the guards’ goading as possible. No need to humiliate himself any more than necessary—not when his brothers back in the Southern Isles would be waiting to deal him even more humiliation. The present king of his country was well-loved with many supporters on his side. No doubt, he would find himself with few friends in the Southern Isles’ population once word got out. Not that he had any friends, even amongst his siblings, in the first place.

 _Not that they deserve my support,_ he scoffed, _not after what they have done to me._

“Alright, Prince Hans,” the second guard jolted him out of his stewing, “Let’s get you on your ship, eh?”

Hans looked up to see that they had now arrived at the docks, which were even busier than usual with sailors, captains, passengers, and dignitaries all running around fussing over last minute preparations. Some boys—likely not passengers themselves—got in the way of a couple of sailors, who both turned and yelled at them to go play elsewhere. Hans heard one boy plead with the sailor to try on his hat, and _then_ they would leave him alone. The harried sailor rolled his eyes, but complied, whipping off his hat and planting it on one of the lads’ heads.

“Alright, gotta go back to the castle,” the second guard said to his friend, releasing his grip on Hans’ other arm, “you’re on your own, but you can do this, eh, old friend?”

The first guard grinned, “Will do, young friend.”

The two men chuckled at what appeared to be some sort of inside joke between them. Hans fought not to roll his eyes. Did they not think he didn’t see how much they were clearly enjoying escorting Hans in disgrace back to the ship?

Now that his companion had left, the first guard pulled Hans along, none too gently, up to the ship that Hans would sail back to the Southern Isles on. Someone—the French dignitary, judging by his accent—shouted at the two to slow down. The guard did so, waiting as the dignitary caught up, slowing down to their pace as he fell into step.

“Monsieur,” the dignitary addressed the guard, “I will see to it that Prince Hans is escorted to his country, for I will be on the same ship too.”

“Excellent,” the guard approved, “I take it you will ensure that he does not try to do anything to attempt to escape his imprisonment when returning to the Southern Isles.”

“Monsieur, I will do anything to ensure that Prince Hans is returned directly to his king and other brothers.”

“Most excellent, sire.”

Now the guard marched Hans down the docks, and, with the dignitary following, guided him onto the deck of the vessel itself, where there was more activity on the deck. Looking around, Hans spotted the same Arendelle staff who had welcomed the foreign ambassadors when they had first arrived in Arendelle for the queen’s coronation. Now he was here again, but to farewell them all. He didn’t speak as the guard walked Hans past him, making a beeline straight for the ship’s smaller cells, designed to hold prisoners at bay. Of course it would not do to have prisoners be allowed the luxury of the sleeping quarters under deck, away from spray and storms, so these dungeons were on the deck itself, privy to wind, rain, spray, and night’s chilliness.

A strong temptation rose in Hans to make a break for it, get away from the cells, as the guard yanked on one of the prisons’ barred doors, pulling it wide open. He stared at the tiny space—even smaller than the prison cells under the castle—he would barely be able to stand at full height in them. He yelled in both surprise and indignation as the Arendelle guard grabbed him and bodily threw him into the dungeon. He landed on the floor of the prison, his head ending up in an overturned bucket. Grumbling in humiliation, Hans pushed the bucket—which smelled of fish and seaweed—off his head as the _clang_ of the prison door shutting rang in his ears, followed shortly by the guard’s footsteps marching away from the cells.

Bitter and indignant, Hans pushed himself to a seated position on the ground, wishing he could just block out the French dignitary’s conversation to the Arendelle castle servant. He wouldn’t be surprised if they were deliberately speaking loudly just so Hans could hear what they were saying.

“…we shall see what his twelve brothers make of his behaviour…”

 _You will,_ Hans agreed, glowering at the two conversing men, _and it will not be pleasant._

Arendelle had humiliated him, but he knew more humiliation awaited him back in the Southern Isles. If he were in hot water in Arendelle, it would be _boiling_ hot for him in his homeland.

 _Home sweet home,_ he thought with great bitterness, slumping back against the prison wall, _what Arendelle should have been for me._

There was no sweet home for him, not here nor there.

 _Well,_ he tried consoling himself as he watched the French dignitary and Arendelle servant make their final farewells, _Arendelle is a simple country anyway. I haven’t missed out on anything not getting Arendelle kingdom._

The only condolence remaining that he could take away from Arendelle was that for just a brief, wonderful moment, he knew what it was to have a kingdom love and respect a ruler with all their hearts.

 _One day,_ he told himself, _I will find a kingdom like Arendelle that_ will _accept me as a king…_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Under a different title on Tumblr, and the first sentence is changed as well. Otherwise, still the same story as on Tumblr.


End file.
